


He Stole My Heart and My Wallet

by NoWhipCreamPlz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bartender Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:31:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoWhipCreamPlz/pseuds/NoWhipCreamPlz
Summary: Dean used to own a bar and a brown leather wallet. Now he just owns a bar.Castiel stole a wallet.When Castiel comes back to apologize will Dean be able to forgive and forget? Will they figure out that they have what each other is missing?





	1. The Best Bar in Town According to Dean

As most love stories go, it all started in a bar. Dean Winchester’s favorite bar to be exact. The place was nothing much to anyone, but to Dean it had become his home. The lighting was dingy, the floors sticky, and the décor would be politely described as uninspired. Hell, most of the bars occupants preferred cheap whiskey and even cheaper women. Dean never saw any of this. He just saw the memories that made the bar the closest thing to a home he ever had. He remembers how Ellen Harvelle smelled like flowers and how she let him sit up at the bar. And how she always had a smile and a meal for him and Sammy, even after he had lied and said that he wasn’t hungry. He liked how that when she was around Dad was always on his best behavior and how she always knew when to cut him off. The old pool tables make him think of his first victory over Joe and the particular shade of purple her face was for a whole week after. So, when Ellen passed away, it was obvious who should be given the bar.

Dean did so lovingly, but he had to admit he was little overwhelmed. He was only freaking 22 after all, he was barely freaking legal and now he was expected to run an entire business. But, he was _determined_ not to let Ellen down, so he threw himself into the business. Learning every aspect from top to bottom. He swept, filed out paperwork, cooked, poured drinks, cleaned puke, and talked sports. He worked all day, every day until he knew every task from inside out and through all this hard work, he even learned that he was _good_ at it. Something about the fast paced atmosphere and late night hours just clicked with him. The bar began to not only run smoothly, but actually succeed. But, even with all this good luck even Dean was not immune to a little bit of trouble. This trouble coming in the form of a man, during a very slow Monday night, who as soon as he walked into the bar Dean knew he would remember for the rest of his life.

 The man walked into the empty bar slowly and the gracefully dropped himself into a bar stool. Everything the man did seemed to be graceful. From the elegant curve of his back to his long lean fingers. His wardrobe starkly contrasted to this natural elegance, he wore faded, lived in jeans with a plain black t-shirt. Over it he had a beaten up old trench coat and a pair of beaten up converse sneakers. This lack of fashion, apparently did not affect his confidence, because his eyes confidently raked over Dean and his mouth turns up into a smirk.

“Shot of whiskey, please,” the man rumbles

Dean quickly fulfills the man’s request and slides his drink towards him. The man quickly shots it and Dean watches as he slams the glass down on the table.

“Another.”

The process then repeats itself a couple more times before the man’s thirst finally appears to be appeased and decides to switch over to beer. Dean considers cutting the man off, but he appears to handle the alcohol well. So, well in fact that he is able to wink at Dean and ask him flirtatiously, “What time do you get off?”

Dean is unexpectedly startled by this question, this is hardly the first time he has been prepositioned (I mean he owns a mirror), but for some reason coming for this good looking stranger it feels completely different. Due to this discontent, his response comes out unsteady.

“Uh I don’t think you would be able to stay up that late buddy.”

The man pouts, but then apparently decides against it and returns to his signature smirk, “You hurt me!” he exclaims as he puts his hand over his heart, “I can’t believe you appear to think _so_ lowly of me,” he directs the full force of his charm at Dean “while I think so highly of you.”

“Well I am flattered, but I have work to do.”

He purrs, “Mr. Bartender I can assure you as your only customer you can slack off a little, I mean, you haven’t even been polite enough to tell me your name. So, dear Mr. Bartender what is your name?”

Dean attempts to ignore the butterflies in his stomach and the slight insult and replies sternly, “My name is Dean and-“

“Dean?” The stranger then grins widely causing his eyes to twinkle “What a great name. Dean Dean Dean. Dean you are the best thing that has happened to me in a while. I absolutely need you to entertain me. Don’t you want to get to know me a little better?” He asks as he focuses deeply into Dean’s eyes and seemingly into his soul.

“Sorry, not tonight.”

This refusal causes the man to sigh deeply and look disappointedly around the room. He rakes his eyes over Dean with hunger in his eyes. “Well beautiful you were the only thing in this bar worth staying for. But, no means no so I better get going.”

Dean watches as the man saunters out of the bar and inexplicably feels a touch of sadness. Almost like he missed out on something. He then startles out his momentary stupor to remember that the man  _never paid!_

He yells out, “Hey! Hey! Asshole! You forgot to pay your tab.” Dean jogs towards the stranger into the empty parking lot.

The man smiles and then something unexpected happens. The stranger then reaches for his pockets, like he is about to pull out his wallet, but instead violently punches Dean in the gut. The wind gets knocked out of Dean from the unexpected attack and he falls to the ground. Before Dean can counter attack the stranger is already running quickly towards the running car that had just come barreling down the road. Dean attempts to chase after the car, but was too late. The car is soon far out of his sight. Dean slows from a sprint and attempts to catch his breath and tries to control his rage. Its then he begins to pat himself down and he notices-

“Goddamn it, the bastard stole MY wallet.”


	2. Where Nobody Knows My Name, But Remembers When I Robbed Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel decides against all advice to return to the scene of the crime as a much less exciting aka sober individual, but even with a clear mind and drug test he is unprepared for what awaits him.

Castiel

_Five years later_

 

It was rainy and cold outside the ugliest bar in the world, at least in Castiel's opinion, but even though the wind whipped at his ears he was reluctant to walk inside.

That tends to happen after you rob a place, your body even revolts against you and tells you not to go back.

So Castiel stands outside in the old parking lot and continues to study the exterior. The bar was old and archetectureally boring. It was a smallish square green building with a red neon sign declaring  _The Roadhouse._ Even though the bar's structure lacked imagination, it was obviously well cared for. The cement was swept, the paint was obviously new, and a small pot of flowers sat cheerfully outside the entrance. These obvious signs of love make the knots of guilt in his stomach tighten even more. To the point, that he almost runs back to the safety of his run down beige Toyota. Instead he adjusts his posture and his resolve, and gets ready to face the consequences of his actions. 

He pushes himself through the doorway and strides towards the bar, desperately trying to ignore his instincts screaming  _GO, RUN._ He passes old pool tables and scarred wooden chairs, towards an old, but welcoming bar. Castiel cautiously approaches and is quickly welcomed by a tall, shaggy headed man, who appeared to be the bartender. 

As he approaches closer the man widely grins and asks, "Hi! What can I get for ya?" 

Castiel begins to eye a bottle of whiskey on the shelf behind the bar. Contemplating once again if sobriety was really worth it. He sighs, "No, I'm good. Actually... does a green eyed man named Dean still work here?"

The former overtly friendly man now eyes him warily, "What do you need him for?"

Castiel considers lying, but where has that ever gotten him? "I once robbed him and I need to apologize," he blurts and forces himself to continue to look the stranger straight in the eye. 

The large man blinks in surprise and then threw his head back and gave out a strangled laugh. "Wait, wait...you're the guy who robbed him?!" Castiel just stares at him, which makes the man laugh even harder. "He said he was a bi-big biker..Oh..my....God," He chokes out between laughs. He then points a finger towards Castiel. "Wait here I am going to grab him."

The man turns away from him and walks towards the back.

"Dean! Dean!" the bartender bellows.

He then disappears leaving Castiel alone in the deserted bar. Flooding Castiel with the memories of the last time he was here. Of course the recollections are somewhat hazy (heroine tends to do this,) but a lot of it is somehow still familiar to him.

The old basic decorating and welcoming bar pop up in his memory. Hurt green eyes stare at him in pain and confusion. For some reason because of those eyes, even after all the terrible things he has done, this particular sin continues to stick fully in his mind and even through rehab he was unable to release his guilt, which led him here, his pathetic attempt at making amends. He needed to somehow to make this right, even if it meant taking a beating himself.

 

Dean

From the backroom doorway Dean observed as the man nervously looked around the room. Dean slowly took in the man and noted the differences from the last time he had saw him. While still thin with a veil of elegance, his cheeks where not as hollow as once before, he also appeared to have gained some much needed weight, and had lost the somewhat manic look in his eye, which appeared to have been replaced with a much more serious demeanor. One of the only similarities to the man he remembered is the ratty old trench coat wrapped around his shoulders. Even though the man appeared to be healthier, Dean was still pissed about what dared bring this man back to  _his_ bar after what he did, but the anger eventually leads him to make his way towards the mystery man.

As he comes near, the man becomes more stiff and becomes almost worryingly still.

Dean stops directly in front of him with Sam close behind and crosses his arms defensively over his chest. "What the hell brings you here?"

The man stares at him and seems to go more and more into himself.

"Hey man!" Dean accuses, "I should be calling the cops..." 

The mention of the police force appears to snap the man out of his stupor.

"Yes..I know. i wanted.."

Dean snorts, "Like a give a _flying fuck_ what you..."

"I know. I know. I don't deserve your understanding."

"Damn right you don't!"

Sam suddenly choose that moment to insert himself into the conversation and stepped to stand beside Dean behind the bar. "Dean, aren't you even a little bit interested in what he has to say? I mean for him to come back here...That took some serious balls!"

Dean considers this and glances over at Sam's earnest face. It does take some serious bravery to come back to the place you robbed. Dean slowly reevaluates the man and makes a decision. 'I guess I will hear what you have to say." he states almost too sweetly.

The man releases a pent up breath. "Thank you. I do not deserve your forgiveness. I have come here today to apologize for my behavior and what I did to you. I was an addict and did some truly awful things. I have come to repent for my actions. During those years, I was truly out of control and was only looking out for myself. I never considered what hardships my actions caused. So, here I am to face my deeds and find a way towards redemption."

Dean blinks at him, "Is that it?"

"Uh- yeah and I also have something that belongs to you." 

The man reaches into his pocket and extends a beaten up brown letter wallet. _His wallet._

"Oh yeah and I am Castiel by the way."

Dean slowly grabs his wallet and is somewhat dumbstruck by the man's gesture, similar to how he felt the first time they met. The man's or Castiel's straight forwardness and courage unexpectedly strike a cord within Dean. Everything about how he reacted to the man was unexpected. 

Sam interrupts the strange silence and clears his throat. "So how long have you been sober now?"

Castiel breaks the eye contact with Dean and squints at Sam, "Little over a year. Now I am just trying to integrate back into normal life, maybe go back to school. First I need to find a job though....Anyways, again I am deeply sorry for my actions and hopefully I can someday return to you the money I stole."

"Do you want a job here?"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to continue my career as a fanfic writer ;) Winter break here we come.


End file.
